‘Nor did you tell me,’ was his reply.
‘I was not interested until a few days ago, when Malati dragged me to the audition,’ said Lata, shortly.
‘And my interest dates to about the same time,’ said Kabir with an attempt at a smile. ‘I heard that you did very well at the auditions.’
Lata could see it all now. Somehow or other he had discovered that she had a good chance of getting a part, and he had decided to attend the auditions for male parts. It was precisely to get away from him that she had undertaken to act in the first place.
‘I suppose you instituted the usual inquiries,’ said Lata.
‘No, I heard about it by chance. I haven’t been following you around.’
‘And so –’
‘Why does there have to be a “so” to it?’ said Kabir, innocently. ‘I just happen to like the lines of the play. And he quoted with an easy and unselfconscious air:
‘There is no woman’s sides
Can bide the beating of so strong a passion
As love doth give my heart: no woman’s heart
So big to hold so much; they lack retention.
Alas, their love may be called appetite, –
No motion of the liver, but the palate, –
That suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt;
But mine is all as hungry as the sea,
And can digest as much: make no compare
Between that love a woman can bear me
And that I owe Olivia.’
Lata felt her face burning. After a while she said: ‘You’re reciting someone else’s lines, I’m afraid. Those weren’t written for you.’ She paused, then added: ‘But you know them rather too well.’
‘I learned them – and a good deal more besides – the night before the auditions,’ said Kabir. ‘I hardly slept! I was determined to get the part of the Duke. But I had to settle for Malvolio. I hope that doesn’t mean anything by way of my fate. I got your note. I keep hoping we’ll meet at Prem Nivas or somewhere –’
To her own surprise Lata found herself laughing. ‘You’re mad, absolutely mad,’ she said.
She had turned away, but as she turned back towards him she noticed the last flicker of what was a look of real pain on his face.
‘I was only joking,’ said Lata.
‘Well,’ said Kabir, making light of it, ‘some are born mad, some achieve madness, and some have madness thrust upon them.’
Lata was tempted to ask him which of the three categories he thought he belonged to. But instead she said: ‘So you do know Malvolio’s role as well.’
‘Oh, those lines,’ said Kabir. ‘Everyone knows those lines. Just poor Malvolio playing the fool.’
‘Why aren’t you playing cricket or something else instead?’ said Lata.
‘What? In the Monsoon Term?’
But Mr Barua, who had arrived a few minutes ago, waved an imaginary baton towards the student who was to play the Duke, and said: ‘All right, well, then, now, “If music be…”, all right? Good.’ And the reading began.
As Lata listened, she got drawn into the other world. It was a while before her first entrance. And when she began reading, she lost herself in the language. Soon she became Olivia. She survived her first exchange with Malvolio. Later she laughed with the rest at Malati’s rendering of Maria. The girl who played Viola too was excellent, and Lata enjoyed falling in love with her. There was even a slight resemblance between Viola and the boy who was to play her brother. Mr Barua had done his casting well.
From time to time, however, Lata, emerging from the play, remembered where she was. She avoided looking at Kabir as much as she could, and only once did she feel that his eyes were on her. She felt certain that he would wish to talk to her afterwards, and she was glad that Malati and she had both got parts. One passage caused her particular difficulty, and Mr Barua had to coax her through it.
Olivia: Why, how dost thou, man? What is the matter with thee?
Malvolio: Not black in my mind, though yellow in my legs. It did come to his hands, and commands shall be executed. I think we do know the sweet Roman hand.
Mr Barua [puzzled at the pause, and looking at Lata in expectation]: Yes, yes, good?
Olivia: Wilt –
Mr Barua: Wilt? Yes, wilt thou… good, excellent, keep on going, Miss Mehra, you’re doing very well.
Olivia: Wilt thou –
Mr Barua: Wilt thou? Yes, yes!
Olivia: Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio?
Mr Barua [holding up one hand to still the guffaws, and waving at the dumbstruck Kabir with his imaginary baton]: How now, Malvolio?
Malvolio: To bed? ay, sweetheart; and I’ll come to thee.
Everyone, other than the two actors and Mr Barua, joined in the laughter that followed. Even Malati. Et tu, thought Lata.